Da Mi Basia Mille
by molamola
Summary: The first five of a thousand kisses
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Sadly, these characters do not belong to me, and they will not be awaiting me under the Christmas tree this year, either.

**Spoilers**: Not really, as this fic goes massively AU after Christmas of '08.

**Notes**: This was a late Christmas present last year for a dear friend, which was supposed to be a quick, little, one-shot. Tony and Ziva soon took control of the fic and I ended up with 4 1/2 parts. This is the first, and takes place just before Christmas of 2008, after which I take them far away from what actually happened the rest of the year.

Thanks, Heather, for being the Toby to my Sam. :)

* * *

**Da Mi Basia Mille**

_Mistletoe_

Their first kiss transpires in Abby's lab, of all places, beneath the sprig of mistletoe that the tech has hung from her doorway.

Technically they have kissed before, but that was under cover, and under observation, and so it wasn't really them doing the kissing. Despite the inevitable repercussions of how their time was spent during that case, the curiosity that had been stoked instead of sated and the fantasies that waxed and waned as though their partnership was synonymous with the moon, life and other cases had also inevitably intervened in the years that followed. If not for the numerous sprays of the plant with which Abby has enthusiastically decorated not only her lab but Ducky's morgue and the bullpen, Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David's first actual kiss might have been delayed much longer, or even been lost forever to the land of missed opportunities and chances not taken.

This is not the case, however, Monday morning, December 22nd, in the doorway of Abby's lab. Results from Major Mass Spec brought the partners down to her lair, and the mischievous scientist has timed her parting comment just so, leaving her unsuspecting victims caught in the mistletoe-trimmed doorway. Tony notices it first, and doesn't seem surprised, as he has seen the foliage that has appeared to have sprung up overnight around the building. What Abby doesn't know, but might suspect given his nature, is that Tony has been semi-seriously attempting to end up, very innocently of course, under one such plant with Ziva all morning. Only semi-seriously, as he is well aware of how easily and quickly this plan could backfire on him, given his partner's MacGuyver-like skills at turning nearly anything into a weapon, and her past reactions to overtures of affection. Still, he figures that Ziva wouldn't dare kill him in front of a witness that has connections with their boss, and so smirks down at her, waiting to see how she will deal with this situation.

Ziva has been living stateside for enough Christmases now that, even though she does not celebrate the holiday herself, she is cognizant of quite a few customs surrounding the event. She is not only well aware of the significance of this particular plant, but is also well aware of her partner's attempt to trap her, although she is wary of the intention behind this manipulation. She has learned to tolerate and even appreciate, on certain rare occasions, his teasing attitude, but has also learned that his heart is not the open book that is his public nature. This is most likely just another means of attaining her sheep, but the soberness and hope that she sees in his eyes, nearly hidden by his trademark smirk, gives her pause. Despite herself, and all the previous times she had contemplated starting down this particular road, Ziva decides to go along with this set-up that Abby has so cleverly and stealthily caught her in.

Tony relaxes somewhat when he sees his partner's surprise and wariness turn to resignation and resolve. She's not likely to kill him then, but maiming is not out of the question unless he treads lightly. Abby has remained silent since her last remark that has them paused in the doorway, though he can see her trying not to squirm with repressed excitement on her stool by the counter. He wants to take a moment, to try to formulate a plan of attack that will result in the least amount of bodily harm. While he has spent the better part of the morning trying to get Ziva under the mistletoe, any mistletoe, he hasn't actually planned out what he was going to do with her once he had her there. Yes, there would be kissing, but how soon (so as not to startle her into attack mode), or how much (before he pressed his luck too far)? Tony turns to Abby to good naturedly remonstrate her for setting him and Ziva up like this, but never gets the chance to get a word out.

Ziva is not, nor ever will be, one to back down from a challenge, and she launches herself fully into this one to be sure that she regains the upper hand. Her senses automatically switch into full alert mode, and she is suddenly aware of many things at once. Her ears register the sound of Abby's squeal from her right, about 10 paces away but well within knife-throwing distance; they also hear the various whirring and beeping of the innocuous laboratory equipment within the lab, the sound of the cleaning cart 7 seconds away in the hallway outside the lab, Tony's startled inhalation before she silences him, and the roar of her heartbeat, hastened by the adrenaline coursing through her body.

Her eyes are closed now, but she took a good look at her surroundings before she closed them and caught Abby clasping her weaponless hands together in the periphery and the unexpected anticipation in Tony's eyes that changed from the initial surprise when she had grabbed his chin to turn him to her. Her right hand still rests against his face, cupping his jawline that is just starting to feel rough, like heavy velvet, beneath her palm. Her other hand is paused against his chest, and under the crisp, white shirt she can feel not only the rise and fall of his breathing, but also his increased heart rate.

Ziva is also conscious of the placement of his hands, and his proximity to her body, and cannot stop herself from calculating, even as she feels herself melting from one hand on the back of her neck beneath her braid and the other alighting on the small of her back, the five different ways she can extricate herself from the embrace and incapacitate him on the floor.

She can smell the various lab chemicals Abby uses for her testing, but is most mindful of the unique smell of her partner, which she will not admit to missing as much as she had during her reassignment this past summer. She has come to equate this smell with safety and trust, and even home, but will certainly not admit this either.

What she simultaneously feels and tastes are Tony's lips beneath her own, and this stimulus claims most of her attention. She has not forgotten, no matter how hard she has tried to, neither how it had felt to kiss him, nor how much his taste both stirred and settled her at the same time. She allows herself to settle a bit now, and doesn't let go.

Tony was certainly not expecting Ziva to do all the thinking under the mistletoe for him. He certainly doesn't mind, not in the least, and allows himself to slide a hand beneath her braid, one of the many places on her body that always begged for one of his hands (or so he told himself), and employs the other to land on her lower back and pull her carefully closer. He's sure Abby's freaking out over on her stool, and that Gibbs will walk in at any moment and cuff him a good one, but right now all he can concentrate on is the sound of his heartbeat roaring in his ears and the little sighs he doesn't think Ziva realizes she's making. Not only this, but also how good she smells, the feel of her slim body in his arms and her warm lips under his, and her taste that he has never managed to forget after all these years.

Their first kiss transpires in Abby's lab, beneath the sprig of mistletoe that the now exuberant and bouncing tech has hung from her doorway; what neither of them suspect, but both secretly hope, is that this will not be their last.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: NCIS and related characters still don't belong to me; maybe next Christmas....

**Spoilers:** This one is safely in the realm of an AU.

**Author's Notes:** Once I wasn't allowed to let them be after the mistletoe, I had to keep going, and the rest of this story was born in multi-parts. Many thanks to my friend and awesome beta, Heather, and a Happy New Year to everyone.

* * *

**Da Mi Basia Mille**

_Champagne_

Their second kiss does not transpire until well over a week later, although they are now in a considerably more upscale location than Abby's lab this time.

In theory, they have kissed at least once since their Abby-and-mistletoe-induced kiss just prior to Christmas, but that was a very brief instance in front of the elevator under Gibbs' watchful eye, and it was only on the cheek, so it didn't really count. This was on Christmas Eve, and the team had been dispersing to various destinations: Abby to an early evening bowling party (as her teammates would be otherwise occupied towards midnight), Tim to his sister's for a potluck, Gibbs to the Wall as was his tradition Christmas Eve when they weren't on an active case, and Ziva to a Jewish neighbour's for a small dinner to celebrate Hanukah's fourth night. Tony had planned on inviting Ziva to accompany him to the midnight screening of _It's A Wonderful Life_, his Christmas tradition, but despite their intimacy two days prior, and subsequent banter that was more flirty than usual, for some reason he had refrained.

It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to spend more time with his partner, especially if the shared time resulted in more of Monday's activities, mistletoe or not. He was also fairly certain that she hadn't been planning on killing him any time soon, nor was she thinking about maiming him with everyday objects. She had, after all, allowed him access to her personal space unscathed, in a purely office-appropriate manner, several times this day.

Tony had considered all of this as they stood at the elevator, Tim and Ziva admiring Abby's red Santa pyjamas that she insisted on wearing to her bowling party, Gibbs barely keeping his smirk from erupting into a full-blown grin as he watched their antics. He had even taken a step closer to Ziva, his shoulder bumping gently into her backpack, though his mind was devoid of any useful words should she actually acknowledge him.

The chime announcing the elevator's arrival had startled him out of his thoughts directly into panic; claiming that he had forgotten something at his desk and telling them not to wait on him, Tony had made his good-byes at the elevator, rather than the garage or perhaps at her door.

Gibbs and Tim were given strong handshakes, while Abby wouldn't settle for anything less than a hearty hug and a peck on the cheek. Ziva was the last to enter the elevator, and Tony had a hard time meeting her eyes because of what she might see in his, and what he might find in hers. He had seen her briefly lick her thumb, which nearly distracted him enough from the feel of said thumb rubbing briskly against his left cheek, where Abby had left an imprint of the lipstick that matched her pyjamas. Gibbs had begun to shift impatiently and Abby's look of anticipation was threatening to go supernova, so Tony had hastened their departure by giving Ziva only an abbreviated kiss on her cheek, lingering just long enough to wish her a happy holiday. The closing of the elevator doors behind him as he had made his way back to his desk had competed with the memory of the sound of her indrawn breath against his ear.

A new case had kept the team busy between Christmas and New Year's Eve; the brief moments when Tony would return from a much-needed food run to find Ziva alone in the bullpen were rare but they took advantage of them when they could. Tim would be in Abby's lab, and Gibbs would be checking up on Ducky's latest findings, and Tony would have the chance to linger at Ziva's desk with their impromptu dinner, their search efforts coordinating seamlessly. The way her lips had curled up just the slightest whenever their fingers warred, lingering too long perhaps, over control of the mouse, had made the frustration of their protracted work hours that much more tolerable.

The Navy Lieutenant's family had been thankful, amidst their grief, for the closure provided them once the case had been solved, bestowing invitations for the annual New Year's Eve dinner dance at their elegant inn upon the unsuspecting team. They hadn't been able to refuse Grandma Harris' pleading, sad countenance, the elderly lady needing others to lavish her attentions upon now that she had lost her only grandchild. Gibbs had given in without fuss and his team hadn't needed to be ordered to accompany him to the inn that night.

The palatial estate in Lake Bancroft is a renowned venue for weddings, corporate and political conferences, reunions, and the annual Harris New Year's Eve dinner dance. Tonight, the main ballroom is decked out in black and white, the theme repeated in the table linens, chair covers, china, and even the floral arrangements. Tiny, white lights adorn evergreen swags over the doorways and the bare branches of potted birch saplings set throughout the room. The only splash of colour is the reception table set just inside the main entranceway; this event raises money every year for the local children's hospital through ticket sales to the dinner and the hand-made quilt on display at the table. This year's quilt is a riot of teal, fuchsia, purple, and gold, and has drawn a large crowd of admirers throughout the evening wishing to add their ticket to the ballot box. Only a few know that their hosts are in mourning, for the family does not wish to cloud others' spirits, or take away from the hospital that had allowed them twenty-three years with Lt. Harris.

A small band is set up in the far corner, playing a bright, jazzy tune while the wait staff circulate around the tables and the perimeter of the dance floor, their trays, burdened with flutes of champagne, held carefully aloft. Abby is dancing with Tim, her dark head, spangled with silver stars from their tabletop, resting quietly on his shoulder. She is uncharacteristically sombre, but the small, contented smile upon her crimson lips attests to a stomach full of wonderful food and wine, and the good company she is keeping. Ducky has been lured out to the dance floor by a fellow Scot, and the two sway nearby, reminiscing about their youth. Only Gibbs remains at their table, but he is deep in discussion with another former marine that had been seated with them, and so does not see Tony grab two champagne flutes and head out into the adjoining lounge, or Ziva following him mere moments later.

Ziva finds Tony at the far end of the lounge, half-hidden behind a birch that is helping to block the other lounge entrance, as that one is too close to the band for safe passage. The only other occupants of the room are seated near the useable doorway, so his chosen spot is both quiet and unlikely to garner them any attention. She awards him a small nod for his thoughtfulness as she takes the proffered glass and joins him behind the tree.

There had been limited time after their meeting with the Harris family to return to headquarters to file their reports and then prepare for the evening. Ziva had grabbed a quick shower and put on one of her numerous black gowns that she had collected over many missions. This one left her shoulders bare, and so she had pulled her hair into a twist that allowed a few curls to tumble over her collarbones. These curls had apparently fascinated Tony, as he had taken more than a few opportunities over the course of the evening to brush, tug, or unwrap one, becoming more daring as his alcoholic intake rose.

She can feel him eyeing her now, even though she is somewhat absorbed in watching the elderly couple talk quietly in the corner opposite while simultaneously keeping a watch out for Gibbs. Ziva therefore isn't startled, but has to work hard to contain a shiver, when Tony's free hand reaches into her peripheral vision to brush gently at her hair. When she turns to him with a questioning look which is only half serious, because she really doesn't mind his hand on her hair, he shows her the silver star that he has plucked from her dark strands.

"Thank-you, Tony. Abby decided to share when she was decorating her own hair earlier." Ziva carefully runs her own hand over her head, hoping to eradicate the remaining offending tinsel, but he stops her by capturing his hand in her own.

"Leave them in; they look," he pauses, either at a loss for words or not quite sure how to phrase them. "They look nice, sparkling in the light." This is one of the nicest things he has ever said to her, and she wonders how she can reconcile this Tony that is front of her with the one that bid her goodbye at the elevator last week. She had found out from Abby that Tony had gone out to the movies that night, and this had left Ziva wondering why he hadn't wanted her to come with him that time. She had pondered this during her morning runs ever since, her feet pounding the pavement harder than usual, and had come up with a few reasonable explanations. Well, as reasonable as one would expect given that Tony was involved.

The first was that he really didn't want to spend time with her, despite what had happened in Abby's lab. This idea was rapidly discounted when she realized the emerging pattern of Tony lingering at her desk with food offerings whenever they were alone in the bullpen during the case. The remembrance of the slide of his fingers over hers as they fought for control of her computer rodent had resulted in a near-trip on a tree root that she had neglected to step over properly in her inattention.

The second reason was hard for her to think about, but she finally admitted it to herself on Monday morning, running carefully in the sleet; the second reason could have been that he had a date to accompany him. This would not have been out-of-character for Tony if she hadn't been the one kissing him in Abby's lab the week before. Ziva had replayed that moment under the mistletoe too many times to count that morning, trying to discern if he could have kissed her like that, and still gone on a date Wednesday night. The food sessions at her desk, and the press of his knee against hers under the table tonight cast serious doubts on this idea, and she has nearly convinced herself that this was not the reason.

The third reason had come to her not while running, but in her shower afterwards yesterday morning. She was feeling the effects of the long hours with this case, and had allowed her mind to wander at will, enjoying the sensation of the hot water cascading down her back as she leaned her head against the tiled wall. Almost immediately, the water had become hands sliding over her skin from nape to ankles, then through her hair and over her shoulders as she tilted her head back. This was certainly not the first time that she had envisioned Tony joining her in her shower, or on her couch, or in her bed, but these instances had certainly increased in frequency since that kiss. She had found herself wondering what could have happened had they gone to the movie, then stopped for coffee, then arrived back at her place. Would they have parted at the door, or would she have allowed, invited, gotten him to come in? The look on his face tonight when they had met in the parking lot of the Inn, which he had managed to control too quickly, had told her that perhaps she was right to wonder such things.

Now it is less than a minute to midnight, and Tony is still holding onto her hand, although he is setting down his champagne on the window ledge behind him and beckoning for her to do the same. She has experienced many American New Year celebrations and Ziva is fairly sure that there is champagne involved. Consequently, she doesn't understand why she is putting her glass down until Tony takes the opportunity to seize this hand as well, so that they are now quite close to each other behind the birch. She can just hear the band on the other side of the wall; the leader is beginning the countdown and the crowd is joining in. This time, she is better prepared for what should happen next, and allows herself to focus only on her partner, trusting that they will be safe for the next few minutes, and watching the white lights from the branches over their heads light up his eyes.

Tony has finally figured out why he didn't invite Ziva to the movies with him a week ago; the sight of Ziva poured into that black confection of a gown, with stars sparkling in her gorgeous, dark hair, has him nearly undone. He's sure that he wouldn't have been able to let her go after the movie without at least getting coffee, without maybe another kiss at her door. If he had been allowed or invited inside, he knew that he would have most likely been responsible for sabotaging this thing growing slowly between them. Or, at least he thought something was growing between them, and given his track record, he was sure to screw it up if he allowed his 'wants' to dictate his 'shoulds'.

Right now though, it's mere seconds to midnight, and if they had mutually agreed to abide by the tradition of mistletoe, then they might as well continue with this night's tradition as well.

The band leader reaches 'one', and there might even be some fireworks being released outside, but all they know are the sparks that they are creating as lips slide and press, hands grab and clutch, teeth nip gently, and tongues soothe and taste. The only coherent thought in Ziva's head as his hands slide down her bare spine, is that it is most definitely reason number three. If Tony was aware of said numbering system, he might have been able to concur, had it not been too much effort considering Ziva's skilful hands had untucked his shirt just enough to slide up inside the material and over his ribs.

Their second kiss does not transpire until well over a week later, though they are now in a considerably more upscale location than Abby's lab, and it is well worth the wait.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: Ronald Sills, poor man, belongs to me; all the rest are, sadly, not mine.

**Spoilers**: We are firmly established in AU world now.

**Comments**: I couldn't resist an Indiana Jones-style adventure for the duo. Kudos to those who can figure out the origin of the chapter title. Thanks for your readership, your patience with the output, and specific thanks to my talented Beta, Heather, who fits my scribblings into her hectic schedule.

* * *

**Da Mi Basia Mille**

_Waiting For the Sky to Fall_

About the only coherent thought that Tony manages to form during their third kiss, wedged between cold, damp stones and a warm, intense Ziva, is that he hadn't gotten so far as to envision he and his partner exchanging such a sentiment in a church, much less a cathedral.

This cathedral, St. Mathew the Apostle, located just southeast of Dupont Circle, had turned out to be the clandestine headquarters of an illegal smuggling operation. The clergy and other church employees had been completely unaware of the traffic in the ancient tunnels and catacombs, long since sealed off and deeply buried, that spread tendril-like from beneath the main structure. The op might have continued to run undisturbed had not a Navy Chaplain, volunteering at his old parish during a furlough, made the unfortunate mistake of opening the small door that was the only modern access point to the tunnels from the cathedral. He had been putting away Christmas decorations late New Year's Day as a favour to the Ladies' Auxiliary, and noticed the door when the overloaded storage shelf had started to come away from the wall.

When his body had turned up in a dumpster numerous blocks away in Chinatown before dawn the following morning, and was identified as military, NCIS had been called in. Local law enforcement had assumed a mugging gone south, but Gibbs' team knew better and dug deeper to uncover and analyse the trace in the Chaplain's lungs, figure out his whereabouts the previous few days, and track down any potential witnesses.

Chaplain Ronald Sills' service record had indicated to which parish he'd belonged, as the Navy took in individuals that had completed their religious training in whatever faith they served, and so Tony and Ziva had been dispatched to St. Matthew. McGee continued to question the staff of the restaurant that owned the dumpster, in particular the breakfast cook who had discovered the body and might possibly have seen the vehicle that held those responsible for the dump.

Ziva had been the only one able to produce the necessary patience to ferry a still-lively, and intoxicated, Ducky home after their dinner dance. As Tony traditionally spent New Year's Day watching the many college football games with the guys he hadn't seen Ziva since leaving Lake Bancroft. It had felt like much more time had passed than a mere thirty or so hours, and he had a hard time paying attention to her directions to the church, distracted by her haphazard ponytail that allowed a few curls to escape around her face and the scent of soap that competed with their coffee.

They had struck pay dirt at the cathedral, but not in the way they had anticipated. Rather than learning about any potential enemies the Chaplain might have made over the years serving at St. Matthew before entering the U.S. Navy Chaplain Corps, they had found out about the clean-up duty he had volunteered for yesterday. The priest who was assisting them had called in Gertrude Maugham, head of the Ladies' Auxiliary, who was now likely one of the last people to see Ronald Sills alive. She had held her composure admirably, but her hands shook as she opened the door leading to the basement, and indicated a room off to the right of the stairs.

Armed with flashlights, the two agents had descended to the storage room to search for any clues as to how Sills had managed to get from the cathedral basement to Lung Ho's dumpster. An earlier search of the Chaplain's apartment had confirmed that he hadn't been home last night, so for the moment, it appeared that he had been taken, somehow, from St. Matthew's.

Ziva had felt the slight draft on her pant leg that indicated something was amiss in the storage room. Investigation had revealed the small door, hidden behind the burdened shelf, barely discernable in the panelling that lined the room. Father Tomlin wasn't aware of what might be behind the door, and had headed to the records room by the clergy offices to look for old plans of the cathedral.

She and Tony had pried open the door and trained their flashlights inside to discover a tunnel leading into darkness. Figuring they'd take a look while they waited for the priest to complete his search, they had squeezed through the small opening and into the barely larger corridor beyond. The air was cool, and musty, though not stagnant, and it was in the direction of a barely discernable breeze that they had headed, cautious of the uneven terrain and potential possible stairwells. Rooms on either side revealed extremely old-looking coffins in various stages of rot, some more ornate than others, stacked upon shelves carved of stone.

The tunnel branched about a hundred yards from the door, and the floor had developed a noticeable descent. The breath of air felt stronger from the right, so they had continued onward, the walls becoming damper the deeper they went. The more their surroundings resembled the set of an Indiana Jones movie, the more the hairs had stood up on the back of Tony's neck, and he had started whistling the theme song to distract himself. Ziva had stopped suddenly with an upraised hand to silence him, and beyond their breathing and the scurrying sounds of what sounded disturbingly like rats, they had heard distant voices ahead.

More branching had ensued, and as the voices grew louder it had become apparent that this was not pedestrian traffic from a street level entrance that they were hearing. Tony had pulled out his cell to call their team, certain that he and Ziva were about to find out just what had happened to the Chaplain, but this far underground a signal wasn't to be had. They had just reached a mutual and silent decision to backtrack and get back-up when they realized that the voices were rapidly drawing closer, and they didn't sound too happy.

Tony allows Ziva to pull him into the nearest catacomb, trusting in her many years of stealth missions, both with Mossad and NCIS. . He winces but keeps his mouth shut as he stubs a toe on a coffin that is listing off of the lowermost shelf onto the damp ground. There isn't a closet for them to duck into this time, so Ziva wedges them behind the listing coffin, crouched awkwardly between the dusty wood and the cold wall. He has no choice but to rest his left shoulder up against her back, and his leg has come to rest against a part of her anatomy he has come close to touching several times in the last week but has yet to actually experience since their undercover op. Despite the tenseness of the situation, guns in hand, waiting for the voices to reach their location, Tony can't help but think that is also feels right, somehow. Not the life in danger part, but that they, as always, have each others' back, and together could face just about anything in spite of, or maybe because of, their changing relationship.

Ziva has found herself with her right knee jammed against the corner of the casket, her left hip rubbing painfully against a protruding stone, but her gun is ready and she has steadied and quieted her breathing so that their hiding place will not be compromised. She does not allow herself to be distracted by the warmth of her partner's body so close to her own, but instead revels in their cohesiveness, and hopes that wherever this new path they are taking is leading them, it will continue to serve them so well.

Her relative peace is shattered by the now-audible sound of footsteps in the tunnel, and the very faint hum against her right ear that sounds like it might be a song. She tries to shift her head to glare at Tony, but it is too dark for any facial expression to be effective and there is too little room so they end up face-to-face, which was not her intention, but will serve her purpose quite well.

Tony is listening for rat sounds along with any signs that the voices belong to armed people, which is highly likely given the probable murder, in this location. He forces himself to relax and be ready for any action, but does not realize that while he is singing "Kiss You (When It's Dangerous)" in his head, he is also humming it against Ziva's ear. She twists her head around just as he begins to hear the footsteps belonging to the voices, and he is only conscious that his lips have been moving when she uses hers to still and silence his. Tony knows that Ziva has many as yet hidden talents thanks to her Mossad background, but didn't believe that mind reading was one of them until now.

Ziva keeps one ear towards the entranceway, gun not wavering in her hand as she quickly kisses her partner into silence. They part very slightly and he is actually holding his breath without being told to this time. The footsteps and the beam of a flashlight pass them by and they hear two men mutter something about rechecking the storage room entrance before it is quiet again. Relief sweeps through her, but she only allows it for a moment, before refocusing on their next task of either getting out undetected to get reinforcements or successfully detain the suspects. Her body is still in battle-mode, and her heightened senses make her even more aware of how close she still is to Tony. She nudges him with her shoulder to indicate that they should move out, but cannot help brushing her lips against his one more time, blaming it on the adrenalin coursing through her veins. She does not know why he is smiling, but finds herself doing so in return even though he can't see it as they creep out together from behind the casket.

Wedged between the cold, damp stones and a warm, intense Ziva is not how Tony had envisioned their third kiss, and he certainly hadn't envisioned he and his partner exchanging such a sentiment in a church, much less a cathedral. However, it is so very them, and he cannot help but smile in the dark, even as she leans in briefly once again, before they set out to get justice for Ron Sills.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** With the exception of a very minor character that appears in the story the remainder do not belong to me.

**Spoilers:** Only if you never watched last season of NCIS. Still AU from what actually happened.

**Notes:** I wrote this last winter, when the possibilities surrounding who would be in the finale, and why, were floating about. In order to be true to the characters' past I had to head in this direction to resolve what had come before and allow them to move forward. This is one of my favourites, but it's definitely not light reading, sorry.

Extra special thanks to my wonderful editor, Heather.

* * *

**Da Mi Basia Mille**

_I'd like to run away from you_

Their fourth kiss almost doesn't happen thanks to a series of events set in motion by a select group of government figures, including Director David, that also involve the arrival of a certain Mossad officer more engrossed in reclaiming Ziva than doing his duty to his country.

The team is tired but satisfied with the accomplishment of a case closed as they return to headquarters and get to work on the necessary paperwork. Tony had ridden back with Gibbs as per their team leader's request, in order to get him up to speed with all that had gone down in the tunnels below St. Matthew the Apostle. Well, not all, but Tony's fairly certain that Gibbs' infallible gut has picked up on all of the bending of Rule #12 that has been going on in the past few weeks.

Ziva is already at her desk, hair now smoothed back into a braid, and clothing straightened, showing no signs of their recent adventures at the cathedral. She doesn't say anything as Tony gets settled across from her, but she does spare him an almost-smile, eyes soft, before returning to her work. He takes a moment to study her and then gets to work himself, mindful of Gibbs, who is on the phone nearby.

Then Gibbs is at Ziva's desk, finished with his phone call and sending off murderous vibes. He briefly sends a look Tony's way, which makes the agent wonder what he's in trouble for now, but their boss' next words turn apprehension into shear dread.

"Ziva, you're needed in MTAC." Their boss' glare softens and now he looks worried himself. "Don't worry about finishing your part of the report."

Ziva frowns minutely, giving Gibbs a quick nod as she rises from her desk and heads for the stairs, resolutely keeping her eyes away from Tony's the entire way. Something is up, but whatever it is, Gibbs is either not at liberty to say, or can't bring himself to. Tony fervently hopes it's the former.

He returns to his report before Gibbs can call him on his inattention, but is only able to put a half-hearted attempt into concentrating, his mind too busy with all the scenarios that could possibly take Ziva to MTAC. The majority of them are not good and he mentally rails at the injustice of it all. After years of growing as partners but still being just a little out of synch, they have finally found their rhythm in a common dance, and it's most likely about to go to hell.

An hour passes, and then another, and the knot of worry gnawing at Tony's gut has grown exponentially. McGee has gone to pick up Abby and Ducky's final findings so the team can finish off the reports, and all of the other agents around them have long since packed it in for the day. Only Tony and Gibbs are left, their desk lamps making little headway into the twilight of the night lighting around them. Tony can feel his boss' eyes on him every once in a while, but keeps his fixed on his computer screen. However, he peripherally catches Gibbs reaching for his phone a few times and abandoning the attempt midway to grabbing the receiver.

The sound of quiet, but intense, arguing breaks the silence as Ziva and a man that Tony recognizes from the photo in Ziva's desk appear on the stairs, their actual words spoken in Hebrew and so indecipherable to him. Movement on the upper landing catches his eye, and he sees Vance coming to stand at the railing, flanked by a distinguished-looking older gentleman, and a younger man smartly attired in a suit despite the late hour. Vance is holding a staring contest with Gibbs, and the suited man looks fascinated by the scene before him, but the older man is watching Ziva and lover-boy very closely and Tony suddenly realizes that this must be her father. It is then that he knows that she is lost to him, and the knot in his stomach is now choking his throat.

Ziva reaches her desk, still arguing vehemently, and starts shoving things into her backpack and clearing off her desk. Fearlessly, the man grabs her arm, much the same as Tony has often done in the past, only this man is more possessive than gentle about it. Ziva stops talking abruptly to glare at the man and shake him off. This makes Tony feel only minutely better, though he doesn't know if she does this because she is embarrassed at the touch in front of her colleagues, or actually doesn't want him touching her.

During this exchange, Vance has joined Gibbs at the team leader's desk; their conversation is considerably more subdued but no less fervent. Director David remains on the balcony above, the disapproval evident on his face as he watches his officers. Tony has forgotten about the other gentleman until he materializes beside his desk as the agent begins his own packing up for the night.

Tony is not in the mood for small talk right now; he wants to get the hell out of there, decorum and professionalism be damned. He continues his task in silence, mostly ignoring the man who is observing both pairs like a tennis match; the man gives in and speaks first.

"Bernard Chisholm." It is not the hand that suddenly appears in Tony's field of view, nor is it the name this poor man has been saddled with, but rather the distinct London accent that gives Tony pause and further deepens the mystery surrounding this op. It now goes further than merely the U.S. and Israeli governments, a realization that does nothing to lessen the fear Tony feels for his partner. He slings his bag over his shoulder and grasps Chisholm's hand for a brief, but firm, shake.

"Tony DiNozzo." He pauses a moment, then hazards a guess, "You MI6?"

Chisholm smiles congenially, nodding, but does not divulge any further information on the matter. Instead he jerks his chin in the direction of the arguing Israelis.

"They always like this?"

Tony knows that the Brit is just trying to make conversation, and that he is completely unaware of the landmine that he is stepping on by asking this. Even if Tony had a clue as to just how far, and for how long, Ziva's involvement with her fellow Mossad officer goes, he's not about to divulge this information, any information really, about her. He's clinging fast to the memories of the past few weeks, and wishes fervently that he'd managed to get his head out of his ass sooner.

This train of thought better left for the bottle of Jack he has waiting for him at home, Tony settles for shrugging before replying, "None of my business." He doesn't need to say that it's none of Chisholm's either, but the foreign agent seems to take no offense, so Tony leaves it at that and moves out from behind his desk.

"I need to head out. It was nice to meet you." Under any other circumstance, but especially one that didn't involve Ziva, Mossad Mystery Man and secret (and likely highly dangerous) missions, Tony would welcome the chance to talk shop with this agent. Not tonight, though, not when this man is allowed to go and be where he cannot.

Chisholm smiles wryly, understanding. "The pleasure's mine, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony catches Gibbs' eye and his leader dismisses him with a barely discernable nod. Tony wants to walk past Ziva's desk, past the now-silent pair, without saying anything, as if all of this means nothing to him. He also wants to grab her in front of their boss, her Mossad boyfriend, and her father, and never let her go.

He settles for pausing next to her desk, studiously ignoring the venomous glare Mr. Mossad is sending his way at the interruption. Ziva's got her game face on, but her eyes search his, and through a film of tears that she stubbornly and expertly holds at bay, she seeks his understanding, his forgiveness.

He wants to touch her so badly that his hands start to shake. He wants to tell her that he loves her, the truth finally becoming obvious to him. It's too late now because it's not fair to bind her here with this truth, to selfishly try to keep her here with him when she is clearly meant to be elsewhere.

"Be safe," is all he can say out loud, hoping that she can see the truth, what he won't say aloud, in his eyes. The cacophony of Vance and Gibbs' discussion is the only thing Tony hears as he enters the elevator.

Ziva is done speaking with Michael tonight. For the next few hours she intends to be as far from him as possible, on so many levels; she needs to do this to be able to survive what she's being thrown into tomorrow. She also knows just how she needs to spend these last few hours that she has here. She shoulders her bag and turns her back on her colleague to meet her father's eyes. Her words are spoken in English, for she wants to hang onto her ties to this place that has become her home for as long as she is able, and confirms her six a.m. pick-up. She doesn't need to say that this is also a warning to Michael to stay away until then.

She allows Gibbs, who breaks away from Vance, to enfold her in a brief hug, taking a small amount of comfort from her boss who is also more of a mentor and father-figure than the man watching from above will ever be.

"Call," Gibbs whispers into her ear, knowing full well that she won't be able to, but also needing to let her know that he'd do his damndest to try to help if he could. She squeezes just a little tighter before slipping away and heading for the stairs.

Ziva catches up with Tony in the garage with minimal effort. She doesn't bother to hide the sound of her footfalls and he straightens up, his hands still braced for support on the door frame of his car. They are alone at this late hour, and her steps echo in the near-empty space until she stops beside him, dropping her bag onto the ground in a mirror-position of his. Now it is only their breathing that pierces the silence, and she is reminded of their few moments in the catacombs below St. Matthew that already feel like an eternity ago. Unlike then, however, it is safe to talk, but she's not quite sure how to say what needs saying.

"Michael was assigned to be my partner during most of my operations for Mossad." She begins with something that Tony might not want to hear, hoping he'll let her finish so he'll understand why. "We've known each other since we were children, as our families were close. Tali even had a brief squeeze on him when she was only nine." Ziva deliberately mangles her words both to distract herself from her sister's memory and also to see if it will make Tony respond. She is rewarded with a sidelong glance that holds a glimmer of curiosity, and takes this as a sign to continue.

"Eventually we slept together, but I never loved him. I don't love him, Tony." Ziva turns around so that she is leaning against the car to better see his face. His curiosity is gone, and there is no humour in his eyes, but she's not prepared for him to move closer so that his hands are now braced on either side of her shoulders. She holds her tongue and waits for her censure, trying not to consider that the last time she sees him could end in anger.

"What about last summer?" His voice is very quiet, and very soft. She doesn't look away.

"Just once, when I first arrived in Tel Aviv." Ziva takes a breath. "It didn't help."

"I know the feeling." Tony's lips quirk in a small, lop-sided grin. "What about this time?"

"No, never again." Ziva wills her voice not to shake, and bites her lip to keep from telling him exactly why. She cannot stop the words that spill out next, for the hours between now and six a.m. are dwindling, "Come home with me?"

She doesn't get the chance to say anything else; Tony's hands leave the car to cup her face, fingers winding into her hair. His mouth on hers is more urgent than their previous kisses, desperate and demanding but asking nothing that she's not willing to give.

Their fourth kiss almost doesn't happen, and is just the first of many that will follow this dark night that is swiftly losing its fight to the encroaching dawn. They refuse to part without their own fight, the years of their partnership aiding the cause, and hold off the daylight for as long as they can.

I'd like to run away  
From you,  
But if you didn't come  
And find me ...  
I would die.  
~ by Shirley Bassey ~


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** They are still not mine...maybe I'll get them for my birthday.

**Spoilers:** None

**Rating:** I've been told it's still T, but a heavier T I think.

**Comments:** This is the end. I hadn't planned on writing any more in this universe, but my muse is starting to perk up again since I've been publishing this, so who knows? Thanks for all of the kind comments, and extra special thanks to my patient and talented beta.

* * *

**Da Mi Basia Mille**

_Love knows not its own depth_

Their fifth kiss, pressed up against the barely-closed door of Ziva's apartment, is deep, deliberately measured, and a prelude of the remainder of their night together.

They take his car over to her place, as he has to be back at his desk before this short leash he is being allowed is pulled, and she trusts the security of the Navy Yard garage over her building's for her car. They remain silent as they climb to her door, although the continual and insistent brush of hands, shoulders and hips speak volumes. Tony doesn't stop himself from standing right up against her as she unlocks her door with hardly detectable tremors in her hands. He tucks his face into her hair and tries to memorize the way it smells tonight; he knows he'll never forget but also that this memory will never be enough.

She turns on him as they enter; he barely notices her lock the door behind him, busy with gently pulling her hair loose so he can tangle his fingers in it and guide her lips up to his. She comes willingly, pressing her body flush against him, and this time they do not have lab results waiting, coworkers celebrating in the next room or criminals pursuing them.

Ziva draws back just enough for their eyes to hold a silent conversation, questions and answers spoken as clearly as if they'd been uttered aloud. Satisfied with what she sees, Ziva pulls back further, but only far enough so that she can slide Tony's jacket off of his broad shoulders and begin untucking his shirt. He traces her spine beneath her sweater, running his hands over smooth skin that is only just becoming familiar to him.

The scant few hours they have together are much too short, but this does not deter them from taking their time now that this night might be all that they have. After their fifth kiss the count is lost as lips are placed against cheeks, eyelids, collarbones and napes. Tony's growl reverberates through her own torso as she sprawls across his chest in her bed and catches his earlobe between her teeth. His skilled hands massage her scalp and tilt her head back so he can nip his own teeth along her throat, eliciting an answering purr from her.

Ziva mutters something in Hebrew as he worships the small of her back; the blissed-out smile on her face when he looks up from his ministrations tells him that it's something good and encourages him to continue. He can't believe how soft the skin on the backs of her knees is, and he spends an inordinate amount of time applying fingers and tongue, until she grows impatient, and with more Hebrew, that doesn't sound so nice this time, pulls him back up to kiss him senseless.

She knows from their brief time spent undercover that Tony's ribs are ticklish and mercilessly attacks him, sitting astride his hips with nothing but their warm and sweaty skin between them, until he manages to topple her off with a move that she has forgotten that she taught him.

One of her favourite parts of him is the hollow of his throat, and when they are lying tangled together, catching their breath and allowing heart rates to slow, she lays her lips there, gently. In this moment he has not a care for his vulnerability, how easily she could kill him, and her heart begins to break at the unfairness of it all, at the utter trust and belonging they have finally found with each other.

He strokes her back and murmurs to her in Italian, and they alternate briefly napping with lovemaking that goes from rough and desperate to soft and slow in a heartbeat.

It is still dark when they leave her bed to shower. She lets him comb her hair free of tangles, and then braids it tightly while he puts the coffee on and finds some bagels in the freezer. They sit knee-to-knee on her couch while they eat, and suddenly there is so much to say to each other. Tony tells her of his last game with OSU, and his first day on the Baltimore PD force. Ziva gives him her memories of making Purim cookies with her maternal grandmother, and her first day in the Army. They do not know how far she will have to go, or for how long it might be, so they forge their new bond as tightly as possible as the first light of day begins to steal into her apartment.

She leaves a key with him, and after one, final, thousandth kiss, she shoulders her backpack and heads out to the waiting car. She doesn't look back, and he turns to survey her home that is strewn with their clothes and still carries the scent of her shampoo from their recent shower. He waits a minute, slouching against the door, breathing in deep, then grabs his gear, and heads out, locking her door behind him. He doesn't look back either.

* * *

_Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.  
You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces.  
Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled.  
Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.  
And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation._

The Coming of the Ship, The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran


End file.
